


The Bohemian Writer

by V0ID115



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, Inspiration, Melancholy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 18:26:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19481521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/V0ID115/pseuds/V0ID115
Summary: A writer decides to write after a long break, but as anyone knows, breaking a stagnant streak is never easy.





	The Bohemian Writer

The lonely writer sits comfortably in their chair as their laptop boots up. The moon is full and the night is quiet. They nurse their glass of wine while their preferred word editor opens up. They haven’t written in a long time, but now, the stars have aligned. No remaining responsibilities from their part time job, their phone turned off so they can’t be bothered by distracting messages. No social media is open and their favorite melancholic tune chants in the air as they let themselves be absorbed by the bohemian rhythm of the big city. They begin writing their first sentences and the words are flowing seamlessly…

… but it’s all for naught. 

The words remain hollow. Writing every word is a heavy weight and the work feels not flawed, but a flaw itself. They stare at the screen, hopelessly searching for ways to improve their work, but nothing comes to mind. The events are correct and according to their planned script, the lines are there, but something seems amiss. The work feels terrible and bland. Nothing seems to fit.

“Damn it, why is this so hard?” The writer yells at themselves.

“Perhaps it’s because you ran out of skill.” they promptly reply to their own question.

“Did I? I thought ‘skill’ was something we developed, not a resource that we ran out of.”

“Perhaps we just had a ‘lucky’ streak.”

“But there’s no such thing as luck.”

“So perhaps we were always bad and we should quit.”

The writer slumped their shoulders dejectedly. “Really? That sounds so… depressing”

“Life is depressing. Why do you even bother reading about so many stories about hope if not to believe in something you don’t see in real life?”

The writer takes their mouse and drags it, moving the white arrow across the screen dejectedly. Was all that work really for nothing? Is there nothing they could do? Is their life really that pathetic? Are all the times they smiled really a lie?

Wait. The times they smiled?

“Wait. If life is so depressing, how come I smiled once?”

“I don’t know. You’re the one that decided to use writing as a way to vent your problems and loneliness and make a living out of it.”

“I always read stories about hope and happy endings. Why can’t I do the same?”

“Precisely because you use them as an outlet to vent out your negativity, your sorrows are just that: negative outlets for your inner problems.”

“... You know, my favorite stories never shied away from heavy topics or sad moments, but they were always a lot more pleasurable to go through. They also made me smile.”

“Strange, I thought your favorite stories were about the struggles of life, given how much tragedy you seem to watch."

"They're stories about _life_ , the good and the bad and the balance between those parts. The bad parts are the fights we have and the good is what we enjoy and fight for."

"... Considering how many deep existential crisis you've written before, can you even write about a thing such as happiness? Can you even feel said happiness?"

“Yes, I can. I just… forgot I can feel it on my own, I guess. It seems I'm not used to smile without someone else making me smile.”

“Yeah, no wonder your work is so melancholic. Look at yourself now.”

The writer sighs and looks at his glass of wine and gets up to stop the music playing on his stereo. “I began writing because I actually felt something special and wanted to have others enjoying my creations. When did this become such a melancholic and negative chore?”

“I’d say the moment you thought you needed to be ‘cool’ and decided to use that as a way to vent your issues.”

The writer stares at their laptop screen and they think back of the first story they wrote. They now know what to do.

“...I need to break this cycle.”

“So, what story are you going to write now?”

The writer turns off their laptop and closes it. “None.”

“Wait, are you really quitting? That was easy.”

“No. I’m not.” They get up and picks up their coat. “I’m going out.”

“What for? If you’re going to fail, you could very well do it inside in the comfort of your couch.”

“But I’m not going to fail. I’m going out. Take a breath of fresh air. The night is lovely.”

“And what will you be doing in the middle of the night?”

“Well, probably enjoy a bit of the park or just the company of other people. I’m going to greet some people and talk to the bartender. I think I’m going to do something I really should allow myself to do more often: Enjoy myself.”

“And why is that?”

“A good writer can write great tragedies of life because they also know how important it is to live their joys.”

Smiling, the writer closes the front door and walks away, humming to themselves a song from a TV show they watched when they were younger as they waved to their drunk neighbor returning, who replied back slurring. The writer is now happier than they have been in a long time.

Not because they had told an epic tale.

But because they reminded how to find a story they love to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> I love meta-narratives. They always make me wonder how much of the author is being self referential or not. My story falls in this gap, I suppose.
> 
> This work is a tribute to Mattias Pilhede. Thanks for being a true inspiration through your videos and for helping me realize many of my issues, along with having a good time.


End file.
